


The Brother's Words

by morganasmyths



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: (sorry), Cuddle, Established Relationship, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Tiny bit of Angst, all i can write it fluff and angst why am i so soft, but john kisses it away, kiss, mycroft is a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 23:28:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10292465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganasmyths/pseuds/morganasmyths
Summary: Mycroft doesn't approve of Sherlock's relationship with John, fluff and comforting ensues.The ice man begins to melt.I couldn't sleep last night and wrote this at like two in the morning...?Excuse any spag mistakes ir typos I'm gonna go correct those sometime





	

It wasn't the first time Mycroft has openly disapproved of Sherlock's love for John. He repeatedly reminded him of how "caring was not an advantage" and "don't get involved" and that sociopathic tendencies did not involve being in a committed relationship with another human being.

Sherlock usually ignored him. For a smart man, he seemed remarkably ignorant of the fact that Sherlock was trying so hard to not be the sociopath he had once so willingly labelled himself. Mycroft seemed to cling to the label as though it was a defining feature of his brother.

It wasn't.

Not anymore. Not after he fell in love with John. However it was Mycroft's disapproving thoughts that plagued his mind when John pressed his lips to Sherlocks at a crime scene. Sherlock smiled initially at the warm, familiar feeling of John's lips on his own, but his brother's cutting words began to creep in again and the doubt over his psychological status began. 

John immediately sensed Sherlock's change in attitude and parted from him, cupping his cheeks and gazing worriedly into his eyes. Sherlock avoided his gaze. John sighed and kissed his forehead.

"I'd tell you I love you," he whispered, "But you already know that. Why waste oxygen that the ducks could use?" 

Sherlock's mouth twitched into a small smile. He had made a fleeting comment about the murderer the day before about how such a brainless idiot could bother wasting oxygen that ducks would otherwise take advantage of. He flickered his eyes to meet John's.

"Dinner?"

"Starving."

-

Mycroft was relentless against Sherlock. John hated it. Every time he came round his shoulders tensed and his mouth drew into a straight line - John's clear indication of irritation.

"How are you John?" Mycroft smiled pleasantly, though there was something menacing beneath it. He knew very well that Mycroft didn't like him, but that was hardly going to stop him sticking up for Sherlock.

"Well, thank you, Mycroft," John replied. He offered him tea, which he refused. Neither Mycroft nor John wanted Mycroft to stay long. 

"I have a proposal, brother mine," Mycroft said once John had left the room. He was making his way to their shared bedroom to find the book he'd misplaced at some god awful hour last night. They'd come back from a case exhausted and clumsy and somehow he had lost his book in the process.

"I'm not interested."

"There's been a rather suspicious attack on a bank, three murders, each in the same way - right up your street I think."

John could hear their conversation from the bedroom but he pretended he couldn't and carried on searching. 

"Where?"

"Minsk." John could hear the smile in Mycroft's voice. 

"Belarus." Sherlock stated flatly. 

"Yes."

"No."

"Oh dear. I do hope I'm not going to have to put up with another burst of sentiment," Mycroft sighed, taking a seat in John's chair. Sherlock glared at him. 

John could feel his blood boiling. How dare Mycroft say those things to Sherlock - Sherlock who is kind and loving and helps people regardless of what they think of him. He's saved the lives of those who would call him a freak in an instant.

"I'm not going to Belarus - I want to be here."

"I want never gets, brother mine-"

"I need to be here. There are people I want to be here with," Sherlock snapped. Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Are we feeling sentimental?" He teased.

"I'm allowed to have friends," Sherlock whispered through gritted teeth. 

"It's hardly fair on them to pretend you feel for them the way they feel for you, is it now, brother mine?" Mycroft said calmly. Sherlock said nothing. John saw red.

Mycroft was completely manipulating Sherlock. He was making him believe once again that he was a sociopath, incapable of feelings. If that were so he wouldn't have stolen a lung from the laboratory upstairs for Molly last Tuesday just because he knew she would like it. He wouldn't have remembered that Lestrade takes his tea with milk and one sugar. 

And he certainly wouldn't kiss John the way he does. 

To prove thus, John forgot the book in an instant and marched into the living room, took Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him with all the intensity of his feelings for him. Sherlock blushed furiously but kissed back tenderly. John parted after a few seconds and smiled sweetly, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"What was that for?" Sherlock murmured.

"Just missed you." John stole a glance at Mycroft and couldn't hold back a grin at what he saw. 

Mycroft did not look happy. John would prove him wrong. He would find a way to let Sherlock feel what he wanted to, no matter what. Sherlock deserved it. 

-

It was evening. The sky was flickering between the orange glow of sunset and the inky waters of nighttime. John was wrapped up in a stripy dressing gown, warm from his shower and craving a cup of tea. He made his way to the kitchen but stopped as he saw Sherlock, eyebrows creasing.

He was in his mind palace, but something wasn't right. He usually seemed peaceful or busy but never this. He never looked... Tense. Scared. Sad. 

He looked all of these things. John made two cups of tea as he waited for Sherlock. Trying to awake Sherlock from his mind palace was pretty dangerous business. He keeps the place quite orderly and it was unfair to disturb his thoughts when they were displayed so vulnerably. It's why he got most people to leave - he never went into his mind palace unless he was with those he trusts.

John put a mug of tea in front of Sherlock and kissed the top of his head - softly telling him of his presence. He lifted his face from Sherlock's curls to look at him properly, only for his mouth to drop in horror as a small tear rolled down one cheek. John reached forward hesitantly and gently wiped it away. Sherlock blinked. Another tear fell.

John stood and moved to the other side of the table and curled his arms around Sherlock. He didn't sit down next to him at first, but as Sherlock reciprocated the hug he pulled him closer and into his shoulder. His heart broke and Sherlock gave shuddering sobs into his chest, clearly doing his best to conceal them but to no avail. 

All he could do was hold him tight, press kisses to his head and remind him how much he loved him.

"I love you John," Sherlock whispered after he had controlled his tears once more. John sat them upright and pressed his lips to Sherlock's, parting their mouths and feeling Sherlock sigh into the touch. 

"I love you too," John whispered once they had parted. "So, so much." 

Sherlock leant forward and rested his face into John's neck.

"M'tired."

"I know." 

"Carry me."

John chuckled at that, but obliged and carried Sherlock bridal-style to their bedroom. It was true, Sherlock was tired. He was asleep within the half hour, nestled in John's embrace. 

-

The next day came and went.

Mycroft came, said some more and went.

John stayed with Sherlock all day until he left, promising he pick up Chinese food on the way home. 

-

"What's he said this time?" Lestrade said gently. 

"They're not real feelings," Sherlock mumbled, staring intently at his cup of tea before sighing and putting it on Lestrade's desk. 

"Come here," Lestrade pulled Sherlock into a hug. Sherlock let him. His arms hung limply and he pressed his forehead against Lestrade's shoulder defeatedly. "Mycroft doesn't know what he's talking about," Lestrade said reassuringly. "He just likes playing the grown up one."

"The smart one," Sherlock grumbled. 

"Exactly," Lestrade said, releasing him. Mycroft had been at Sherlock again for simply having feelings. He didn't realise how much his words affected his brother, because regardless of how much Sherlock didn't show it he really listened to Mycroft. Sherlock took his brother's opinion seriously, and it was breaking him for Mycroft to have such a negative opinion to his love for the most important person in his life - John. 

"I think he's too thick to be the smart one."

Lestrade laughed and agreed before ordering him to go home and love John some more. Although he didn't mind Sherlock visiting him after hours, he knew John would be waiting. It was important for Sherlock to have friends wherever he needed them because he did. He wasn't a stone-hearted sociopath. He was a human being. He was so fragile under all that ice. 

"Like he needs reminding to love another," he murmured to himself after Sherlock was long gone. 

-

"For God's sake look at his side burns! Of course he's the bloody father!" 

An uncontrollable grin broke out onto John's face as he heard Sherlock yelling at the telly once again. 

"Why are all these people so brainless?" 

There was a slight tremor in his voice - a sign of Sherlock getting tired, John noted. He promptly gave up on washing the dishes and dried himself off before walking over to Sherlock.

For a split second he considered sitting in his own chair before realising how tediously awful that option was in comparison to sitting on Sherlock. So he sat on Sherlock.

Before he had even landed, two slender arms were wrapping themselves around his waist and pulling him close. He felt lips in his hair and sighed in content. The soft chatter of the television provided a comforting background noise as he closed his eyes and leant into Sherlock. His legs were curled up in Sherlock's lap and face buried in his neck. He pressed a soft kiss there. 

Sherlock fastened his arms even tighter around John, sliding one upwards to cradle his head. Nothing could ever describe the warmth he felt, or how so inexplicably in love he was with John Watson. It was almost overwhelming but in a peaceful sort of way. Eventually their breathing began to even and their eyes fluttered shut. They slept curled up against one another.

-

When Mycroft Holmes opened the door to lecture his brother into another case, he had at least been expecting one being to be awake in the household, but apparently not even Mrs Hudson gets up before ten o'clock on Sundays.

How tedious.

He opened the door to 221B and strode into the living room, searching half-heartedly for a sign of life until his sharp gaze settled upon Sherlock's armchair.

Upon it, two figures lay, curled up and snuggled against one another, breathing even, perfectly content. Something in Mycroft's chest snapped. He swallowed guiltily, realising how wrong he had been. He saw how his younger brother's head was tilted subconsciously against John's. He saw how his arms cradled his sleeping form protectively. 

Protecting John from him. 

Without another word he closed the door quietly behind him and left the flat. What a remarkable human being Sherlock Holmes made.


End file.
